Breaking Point
by HaileeLovesBooks
Summary: "Everyone has a breaking point. A point where the 'fatal' outweighs the 'flaw,' and the world stops spinning just long enough to spit him out before carrying on as usual." In a (just barely) AU where Chuck is still alive and writing about his visions, he suddenly has a very disturbing one. Set after 10x18... Kind of. Rating for implied suicide and (not implied) language
1. But Still Good

"Everyone has a breaking point. A point where the 'fatal' outweighs the 'flaw,' and the world stops spinning just long enough to spit him out before carrying on as usual."

Chuck sleepily reached for his coffee before reading over what he'd written. Ever since his dramatic ending to "Swan Song," he had lost his will to write, but he'd had a traumatic vision, if his headache had anything to say for it, and he was determined to figure out what it was about.

He shook his head. "Sorry, Becky," he apologized before returning to his work, "this one isn't looking good for your Sam."

"Some breaking points are more drastic than others…"

Dean lay in bed, determined not to fall asleep. Mark-induced dreams were never pleasant, and he rarely had any other kind. He was coming to deeply regret his impulsive decision, but he knew that he'd always make it again given the choice. Knowing their lives, it might be a genuine possibility.

Outside his door, he could hear Sam, Charlie, and Cas still talking over dinner. They deserved some down time, and he wasn't complaining.

He heard Sam laugh at something Charlie had said, or maybe one of Cas' naïve eccentricities, and a smile graced his face as he thought of how their lives had changed since the days when he was the only one who could make Sam laugh like that. Remembering their childhood, though, and how he had trained himself to find the stupid joke in everything just to see Sammy smile once, only brought the kind of pain he was hoping to avoid.

Somewhere, through the maze of thoughts circling in his head, he heard Sam promising to take Charlie and Cas to brush up on their marksmanship, and he let a thrill of pride run through him at the sound of his little brother, all grown up, being the protector this time.

He must have dozed off, because he thought he heard Cas make a pop culture reference, and he had to check his arm to be sure that it was real. The mark glared back at him, and he laid back in wonder. When had the badass warrior, childlike wonderer found someone else to answer his questions?

A spark of jealousy entered his thoughts as he considered it. For that matter, when did Sam forget that Dean was the one who did the teaching, and who told Charlie she could make Sam laugh like that? They were probably finishing the pie that he didn't have an appetite for anymore, completely enjoying themselves, and just fine without him.

Well, the last part was obvious. He hadn't heard Sammy laugh this much since he first got the damned mark in the first place. His very presence, it seemed, was restraining Sam's happiness.

He rolled over restlessly, but the thoughts followed him there too. After years of self-sufficiency and responsibility, he had become the one thing he never thought he'd be: a burden. He was useless on a hunt because no one knew if it was him or the mark in charge. He was just more for Sam to watch out for, and what's worse, he was a liability. He made everything harder. He'd drawn a rift between Cas and Claire, for god's sake. He had no business being here anymore. All he did was bring people down and waste their resources.

He knew what he had to do.

Chuck woke up with his temple against the space key and swore endlessly as he backspaced fifteen pages to get to where he'd left off.

"The saddest thing about a breaking part, though," he resumed, "is that usually the epitome is only a false image. The consequences, then, come without warning to anyone else."

He shook his head to clear his thoughts a bit, shuddering at some of the images flitting across his mind. He reached for the lukewarm coffee before thinking better of it and heading for the kitchen. This one would call for something a lot stronger.

Sam knocked gently at the door. "Hey, Dean?" He was met with silence.

"Dude, I know you aren't sleeping. Don't even bother faking it. Just- well, if- yeah, I'm not having this conversation through a door, so zip up." He opened the door cautiously and fell back a step. "Oh shit. Shit, shit. Cas! Castiel!" he yelled, and two pairs of feet ran toward him.

"Sam? Is everything alright?" the angel asked, pausing to regard the human.

Charlie ran past him and looked into the room before retreating quickly, tears already welling up in her eyes. "Sam," she started helplessly, and he wordlessly engulfed her in a hug as Cas began to assess the situation.

"You can do something, right?" she asked tremulously.

Cas shook his head. "I… I don't think so. He would have to want to come back, and-"

"Cas!" Sam broke in harshly. "I don't care what you have to do, you bring my brother back right now, you understand me?"

Cas nodded briefly and walked away.

Sam returned his attention to the broken woman in his arms, although he was barely holding it together himself at the moment. A random fact about how a person in shock can possess a seeming calm flitted through his brain, but he dismissed it.

Neither of them thought to move for hours, clinging tightly to each other, each the other's last (human) friend.

"And yet, despite the severity, this would not be the end. For one person's breaking point will always be another's strongest hour."

Chuck finally let himself relax as the vision had, seemingly, played itself out. Early the next morning, he pulled himself out of his stupor and read it in its entirety, only to have his jaw drop at the end.

"What the hell? Even the goddamn visions end on a fucking cliffhanger?" He yelled at no one in particular.

There was a knock at the door, and he tilted his head in contemplative shock.

"Huh," he grunted as he rose to answer the door for his surprise guest. "Did not see that coming!"


	2. Little and Broken

Castiel waited patiently for the prophet to stop sputtering, but even angels won't be patient forever. Eventually, he just pushed his way into the house, leaving the door open for whenever Chuck felt like catching up. "Whenever" ended up being fairly soon, and as soon as the door closed again, Castiel whirled on the prophet.

"You've been having visions," he stated, and they both understood that this was neither an interrogation nor a negotiation. Chuck backed up slowly under the seraph's gaze and nodded unnecessarily.

It wasn't far enough, because moments later, Castiel had the prophet's shirt bunched in his hand and was yelling, "Tell me how far you've seen! How do we do it! Answer, dammit!"

Chuck shook his head. "All I've seen is up until the part where you walk away from Sam and Charlie, I swear! Look at my computer! You'll see I stopped writing!"

The angel let his anger simmer for a long moment, and Chuck thought he saw a flash of wings for a moment, but then Castiel let out a long breath and lowered the prophet to the ground. He stalked to the computer and began reading, much like Chuck had upon awakening.

He tilted his head when he finished. "If you haven't seen any further, how can you be so sure that this is just the beginning?" he asked dangerously.

Chuck shrugged. "You have no idea how this works, Angel. I have a vision, and I write it word for word. Then I wait for the next one. Anyway, how did you get here? Last I saw, your wings were still too broken to even think of flying!"

There was a distinct moment where the almost-human Cas emerged from the austere and powerful Castiel, and Chuck immediately felt much more at ease.

"I took an airplane!" Cas declared. "It is simply marvelous how humans, even in their limited brains, can work out concepts of celestial origin!"

"So, you enjoyed your flight?" Chuck asked curiously. This was one thing he'd never gotten to see up close before: the angel's intense interest in humanity.

Cas nodded. "It's an interesting experience."

They were quiet for a moment too long, and a feeling of awkwardness settled over both of them uncomfortably.

"So, how did you find me?" Chuck asked finally.

Cas shrugged. "Your name was re-imprinted on my brain after Kevin, and your location was easy to track down. I never had a reason to come before," he added.

Chuck nodded. "No worries, I'm not upset that you didn't bring me a housewarming present," he said, cringing as he remembered the literal house warming that had happened the last time he and Cas were together. "How come I don't have an archangel this time around, though?" he asked.

Cas frowned. "Don't you know?" he asked before nodding wisely. "Ah, you don't know anything from the time Sam jumped into the pit until after Kevin died, do you?"

Chuck shrugged. "If that's what happened between three years, then you're right. I can't say I'm complaining, though."

Cas nodded. "There are no more archangels," he stated as calmly as one might announce that the winter was officially over. "I killed them all."

Chuck blinked rapidly, but Cas kept talking.

"Of course, at the time, I was stuffed with all the souls from purgatory and believed myself to be the new god, but that was before I released the Leviathan. I atoned for my transgressions by remaining in purgatory after Dean escaped, of course, until Naomi began controlling me. And then there was Hannah." The angel trailed off before snapping to attention and staring at Chuck.

"Are you having another vision yet?" he asked.

Chuck winced. "Well, now that you mention it," he complained, taking up his position behind his computer. Cas hung over his shoulder like a lonely puppy, desperately hanging on each word as the saga continued.

Disentangling himself from the emotional redhead, a stone-faced Sam stood and stretched before walking calmly down to the dungeon. He went about the usual preparations (drawing a devil's trap, gathering ingredients) and summoned his favorite king of hell.

"What have you gotten yourself into now, you hare-brained fool," the demon asked, chuckling at his own pun.

Sam straightened to his full height, effectively intimidating his opponent. "I'm done playing, Crowley," he spat out, "so here's the deal. Your mother wants me to kill you before she'll help me remove the mark, but that's off the table now. Dean's dead. Short of making him a demon, what will you do to fix it?"

Crowley laughed. "And you assume that I'm going to fix it, why?"

Sam smiled thinly. "Don't be an idiot. You're going to help my brother, and you're going to do it for free, or I'm going to fillet you alive and soak each thinly carved slice in holy water to marinate for the next ten years. Got it?"

"And if there's nothing I can do?" Crowley asked. "Because, obviously, I have your brother's soul now, and I can see why angel boy couldn't help you. What makes you think I'm different?"

"You're not bound by restraints, you don't have boundaries, you don't give a fuck, and you don't deserve him," Sam spat out rapidly. "Now you're going to tell me what the plan is so that it can be set into motion immediately."

Crowley sniffed. "I think not." He snapped his fingers to call his hellhounds to his side and stared in shock as his pet was ripped to pieces by an invisible force.

The eerily unnatural smile never left Sam's face. "Mummy dearest taught me a few more tricks," he explained, rolling his eyes at Crowley's astonishment.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Crowley asked, incensed.

"Still believe that I can't lay a finger on you?" Sam asked in lieu of replying. "I suggest that you start talking, Crowley. Hellhounds aren't the only things your mother taught me to tear to shreds." He paused, thinking. "They're just the only things she taught me to tear entirely, so I might have to get creative."

Crowley was sure that he heard a literal growl escape the younger Winchester and promised himself never to underestimate him again. This was the second of his pets to perish at Sam's hands!

"I might be able to do a little something with something," he conceded, "but I'll need Dean's body to do it, and he won't have all his memories at first."

Sam considered for a moment, then nodded. "You'll wait here for me to explain things to Charlie, then you'll explain the entire process to me in detail. Should you change an iota of the process, I will be released from my payment, which is withholding a slow, painful death. And I'm not kissing you."

Crowley knew better than to argue. "Agreed."

Sam nodded curtly and spun on his heel to exit the room.

"That's it?" Cas asked sharply as Chuck stopped writing.

The prophet nodded. "For now."

"What's Crowley's plan?"

"I don't know. I'll find out when I write it."

Cas frowned. "But what if it's one of the things that you don't see? Then how will we know what is going to happen?"

Chuck sighed. "And on your left, you'll see an angel discovering the limitations of living without omniscience."

Cas frowned for the millionth time. "I don't understand. I am standing behind you. Who are you talking you? Is this another vision?"

Chuck bolted up and started typing rapidly.

"The truest paradox is achieved when the hero, intent on doing the right thing, can only accomplish his goal by seemingly working against it. It is in such fires, sparked by the clash between good and evil, that the unscorched strong are divided from the ashes of the weak."

Cas nodded slowly. "That is a true statement, but what does it have to do with Sam and Dean?" he asked.

Chuck sighed. "We have a little while until the next vision, and I'm assuming you aren't going anywhere. Sit down and let me teach you about a little thing called subtext."


End file.
